


Getting Found

by Caedmon68



Series: Bloody Unnatural [2]
Category: Cabin Pressure, Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Being Lost, Family, Gen, Kid Fic, Kidlock, Talking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-13
Updated: 2014-01-13
Packaged: 2018-01-08 15:20:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,768
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1134219
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Caedmon68/pseuds/Caedmon68
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A young Martin is a little bit lost, physically and emotionally.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Getting Found

**Author's Note:**

> Much thanks to potentiality_26 for the beta work - your notes were very helpful. In addition, this fits in the Unnatural series, though there is very little of the supernatural in it. Hope you all enjoy.

Martin bundled himself against one of the trees on the edge of the estate. He hadn't meant to wander so far from the pond where Sherlock was gathering samples for his new experiment, but he had gotten bored and walked off without paying attention. 

_They can find me. Mummy showed us the runes for finding things the other day. I don't know them all yet, but Sherlock and Mycroft will._ Martin just needed to sit still, just like Simon had told him to do if he ever got lost at the store. After all, Mycroft and Sherlock wouldn't be able to find Martin if he kept wandering away while they were still working.

Martin looked around and found a useful tree to sit by. There was a hole in the roots at the base of the trunk, and it looked about the right size for Martin to curl into. Martin could wait there for Sherlock to finish collecting his samples, because there wasn't any way Sherlock would notice him missing until he was ready to go. 

Martin bit his lip and curled into his little spot. A stick sat nearby, and he grabbed it. He could practice his runes while he waited – Mummy would like that. 

Except Martin couldn't remember all the hard lines and angles of the runes his mother had set him for the week, so instead he doodled planes. That was okay, though. Sherlock had said that planes – and with them pilots – were useful, even if he thought flying was boring. Martin didn't think flying was boring at all, but it was okay if Sherlock did. As long as Martin was useful, Sherlock wouldn't be too upset if he didn't like Martin's job.

*

Martin had drawn at least a dozen aeroplanes amid the roots of the tree. He couldn't see them, of course. It wasn't like his stick was a pencil. But he could imagine where his stick would have left lines, and that was enough for him to know that they were really good planes, detailed according to the pictures that Mummy had gotten him and the books that Mycroft helped him find in the Holmes family library after Martin told him what he wanted to do when he grew up.

Martin started on his thirteenth aeroplane before freezing in fear. He had been here for a long time – he knew that he wasn't a quick artist. Not like Sherlock, who could sketch the results of an experiment before Martin had even figured out what had happened. And he had drawn a dozen whole aeroplanes.

That was twelve aeroplanes, and they took a long time to draw. So Martin had been here for a really long time, and neither Mycroft nor Sherlock had found him. They were both really smart – Martin always felt even stupider than normal after he came to visit – so they could have found him if they really wanted to.

Martin took a deep breath. He was being stupid. Sherlock would say that he was idiotic, because of course Sherlock and Mycroft wanted to have him around. Mycroft had said once that if they didn't want to see Martin, they would stop letting him come. And they still let him come over as often as Mummy and Mrs Holmes would allow. 

But Mycroft and Sherlock didn't have to like Martin. Simon and Caitlin had explained it to Martin when they found out that Martin was actually their half-brother, that Mummy and Mr. Holmes had gotten Martin when Mummy and Dad were “having a break” (though Martin didn’t really know what that meant), and that Martin wasn’t actually their dad's son.

“You have to be really good now, because Daddy doesn't have to love you.” Caitlin had reached over the poke Martin in the arm, as if showing him that she could get away with more than him now. 

“We don't have to love you either, because you are only half our brother.” Simon had spoken without thinking, and he froze as soon as Martin started to rub his arm. Martin had thought he was going to cry, because he didn't want to think about Simon and Caitlin and Dad not loving him anymore. “We still will, though, Martin. We aren't going to stop loving you just because it's not a requirement anymore!”

Martin had sniffed a little, fighting off his own urge to start crying. Then he reached over to hug Simon, mumbling into his shirt, “What's a requ'rment?”

Simon had just laughed and answered, “A requirement is something you have to do, whether you want to or not.” Martin had nodded into Simon's shirt. Simon was older, and he knew everything.

Now, Martin remembered the conversation. If Simon and Caitlin didn't have to love him anymore, that meant Sherlock and Mycroft didn't have to either. And Martin wasn't the kind of person that Sherlock would like, not to mention Mycroft. He wasn't smart, not like they were. He was boring. And worst of all, he was a baby. He was only seven, and Sherlock was twelve. Martin didn't even want to think about Mycroft's nineteen years – he was practically a grown-up.

Maybe they had decided that they didn't love him anymore, and so they weren't going to look for him. They were just going to leave him in the woods until he understood the message and went away.

Martin couldn't stop himself and sniffled a little at the thought. He loved coming to the Holmes estate. He loved Mycroft, patiently writing and re-writing all the letters of the alphabet, trying to teach Martin penmanship. He loved Sherlock, standing in front of cupboards full of chemicals and describing them all to Martin, complete with excited hand gestures. He didn't want his half-brothers to decide that he wasn't worth watching any more.

Martin fell into tears. Sherlock and Mycroft didn't want him anymore. And Simon was so much older than Martin, and he didn't like to play or even teach. Caitlin was just mean. Martin didn't have any more brothers or sisters, and the ones he had didn't like him. Because he was boring, and he liked planes and flying too much, and he wasn't smart enough or grown up enough to talk to or play with properly.

*

“Martin! Martin, you utter idiot, what the hell were you doing?” Martin looked up, rubbing his eyes and biting his lip, hoping Sherlock wouldn't be able to see that he had been crying. Even though that was pointless. Sherlock always saw _everything_. And Martin was just a stupid little boy, not even properly his brother.

“She-Sherlock? You found me!” Why had Sherlock come to find Martin? Did he decide that Martin was too stupid to figure out that he wasn't wanted anymore and come to get his things?

Martin looked at Sherlock's tight face. He looked angry, scowling and stomping through the trees like he wanted to hurt the dirt. But he also had the same marks on the inside of his palms that Simon had right after exams, and Martin knew that Simon only had them after he was fisting his hands because he was worried. Had Sherlock been worried?

“Of course I found you. You don't think me so brainless as to be unable to find one boy lost at my own house?” Sherlock stomped his way through the roots until he was standing right in front of Martin. Then he leaned forward, hauling Martin up by the arms.

“N-no! I thought you decided that you didn't want me to stay any more, and you were waiting for me to come get my stuff. I thought you didn't love me no more.” Sherlock's scowl got deeper, and he muttered under his breath. Martin didn't really understand everything, but he did pick up the words “bloody idiot” in with everything else. 

“Any more.” Martin obediently parroted the corrected grammar before falling silent, letting Sherlock lead him back through the trees. 

“What is your logic?”

Martin had heard every version of that question it was possible to hear. Every time he did anything bad at the Holmes estate, someone asked him about his logic. No one ever just asked why here. And, used to the question, Martin could answer without having to think.

“Simon said that loving me isn't a requirement, because I am only your half-brother. And I'm boring, and little.” Sherlock growled, and Martin bit his lip. Sherlock only growled when he was _really_ mad.

“I am not required to love anyone, nor is Mycroft. We keep you about because we want to, nothing more or less. And if we don't want you about any longer, you will know about it. Until then, please don't do anything as stupid as wander into the woods where we can't trace you!” Sherlock's hand tightened around Martin's wrist, and Martin smiled. Sherlock did want him to stay.

“But you have magic, just like I do. You could have found me that way.” Sherlock rolled his eyes, and Martin bit his lip. He had said something stupid, and Sherlock might not want him anymore.

But then Sherlock waved his free hand in annoyance, and Martin could see where the little marks from his fingernails still showed on Sherlock's palm. Sherlock had been scared when he couldn't find Martin, and that meant that he did care. 

“You haven't looked at any of the building plans in the library, then. There are so many hiding runes around the estate it would take _Mummy_ to magically locate a helicopter right over our heads here. And Mycroft was almost to the point of calling her to look for you.”

Martin cringed a little. 

“Sorry. Sorry I got lost and you and Mycroft got scared and thought about calling your mummy and sorry for being moronic.” Martin stopped walking, which made Sherlock stop and look at him. As soon as Sherlock was facing him, Martin barrelled into his older brother with a hug.

“Don't be dull, Martin. You didn't intend the first two, and you can't help the last. Come on, we have to show Mycroft that you are still alive and well. I suspect he's worried that a lion saw all that ginger hair and ate you.”

Martin giggled a little. Sherlock hadn't said that he and Mycroft hadn't been scared, which meant they had been. Really scared, because if they were only a little scared Sherlock would have dismissed it. And Sherlock had said something silly.

Walking behind Sherlock again, Martin started his reply with one of Sherlock's favourite commands. “Don't be stupid, Sherlock. Lions don't live in England.”


End file.
